


Gesture

by Seefin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blowjobs, Funny jokes, Getting Together, HP: EWE, M/M, Quidditch, all that good shit, everyone understands everything, the absolute antithesis of misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seefin/pseuds/Seefin
Summary: The Cannons were determined to make the finals this year, and the month-long training camp had been brutal. They had a new coach, transferred over from one of the better teams in the Belgian league, and they had Harry Potter, former star seeker of the Gryffindor team, and former Chosen One.





	Gesture

**Author's Note:**

> thank you [showknight](http://showknight.tumblr.com/) for the speedy beta
> 
> I am obsessed with clichés, take that for the warning it is

1.

Harry stood just outside the open door of The Burrow, on the edge of the flagstone pathway where it dropped down into the grass. A tractor was beetling slowly around in a distant field, throwing up dust and glinting occasionally in the bright morning sunlight, but the immediate countryside was quiet otherwise. He turned his face into the soft breeze.

It might have been unfair the way The Burrow made him feel, peaceful and steady, because as far as he knew the Weasleys all moved around the place as though it was a hotel. They were polite and unfamiliar with the rooms, as if they were only just getting to know it. Harry thought a lot of that probably had to do with Fred; none of them knew how to exist in their home without him.

A door opened in the house behind him, slamming closed again quickly afterwards, and Harry startled for a moment before stilling himself deliberately. A hushed conversation was taking place in the kitchen, escaping out through the open window, but even if he strained he couldn’t really make out the words. He wouldn’t eavesdrop normally, it was just that a lot of the hushed conversations that took place in this house lately had to do with Ginny, and she’d want to know what people were saying about her.

He’d just rested his teacup on the ground when Luna slipped through the back door, pausing for a moment to gather up the mile of fabric trailing from the back of her dress. “Good morning Harry,” she said, pulling the door shut. She walked a few steps forward to the grass and sat down, picking up his cup to rest it on her knee.

“Do you know what that was about?” he asked, nodding his head back towards the house. He sat down with her on the path, his toes digging into the grass. She handed him his tea and shrugged loosely, the pile of fabric bundled tightly in her lap.

“I think Ginny,” she said slowly, and Harry grimaced.

“Who was it?”

“Ron and Hermione,” Luna replied. “Ginny won’t be pleased when she finds out they’ve been arguing about it.”

“No,” Harry agreed.

The current topic of conversation between all the Weasleys lately had to do with Ginny, who had been approached by the Harpies a few weeks ago. They wanted her to do the August training camp with them, to try out for the team before the season started in September. Molly and Arthur wanted her to finish school, which on one hand was pretty reasonable, and on the other hand was ridiculous, when you considered what they’d actually learnt in Hogwarts over the years. Harry didn’t know _anything,_ the only reason he could remember who wrote _Hogwarts: A History was_  because he’d been attacked by the fucking author. Harry was mostly under the impression that Hogwarts was brilliant but useless, even though most people insisted it would be different this year, what with Voldemort not trying to kill Harry at every turn.

“Also the paper came,” Luna said, reaching across to take a sip from Harry’s teacup. She made a small face of distaste, since she liked the type of tea that tasted like fruit or earth, rather than the sweet breakfast tea Harry preferred.

“The Quibbler?” Harry asked, unsure as to why she was telling him this piece of information.

“The Prophet,” she said. “Don’t worry though, because I took it before anyone got a good look at the front page.”

“Is it about me?” Harry asked, making a face.

“Um,” Luna hedged. “It’s possible you might _make it_ about you.”

Harry didn’t really know how to take that. “I hate the Prophet,” he told her, ripping up a clump of thick moss from the stone he was sitting on. “They’re such pricks.”

“Yes,” she agreed peaceably, and produced the shrunken paper from inside her dress. She touched her wand to it, popping it back into its usual size. The pages fluttered in the wind, and she smoothed them down.

“Oh,” Harry said. The main photo was of Auror Robards, outside the headquarters giving a press conference in his dark uniform. Beside that though, and just a little underneath, was a picture of Draco Malfoy. He was flying, his cape flowing out behind him for a second before the photo closed in on his face, vicious and pointed, his teeth bared as he looked towards something neither Harry or Luna could see. Harry swallowed.

“He’s been signed by the Kestrels,” Luna said.

Harry put his face in his hands. “Ughh,” he said, and was glad Luna had shown him this out here. He looked at the photo again, Malfoy’s straight teeth gleaming.

“You only have to play him a few times a year,” Luna pointed out. “I think, I don’t actually know how professional Quidditch works.”

“It’s a few times a year, yeah,” Harry said. “Maybe a bit more than that.” He sighed. “Ginny won’t like this.”

“I was thinking _you_ wouldn’t like it,” Luna said, surprised.

“Well-- she’s going to be well pissed off that he was signed and she has to go back and piss around on the school team for a year.”

“She’ll be captain, it’ll be good experience,” Luna said, after a second.

“Maybe,” Harry allowed.

“I think she doesn’t want to be there without you,” Luna said, frowning a little. “You meaning-- you and Neville and Dean and Hermione and everyone.”

“She’d have you,” Harry said, leaning back on his hands. Luna nodded thoughtfully.

“Molly and Arthur won’t let her get away with missing her last year of school,” Luna said, “even if she can legally drop out.”

Harry wasn’t listening. Not on purpose, but because he’d been distracted again by the photo of Malfoy. It was a bad picture, he didn’t look nearly as dignified as he tried to usually, off the pitch. Harry had seen that face before though, countless times, during matches or during screaming fights in the hallways. It didn’t make Harry feel the way it usually did, hot and angry and sick. There was something else twisting in his stomach, something anticipatory, something that said _god, won’t it be good to beat him, properly, where it means something._

2.

The Cannons were determined to make the finals this year, and the month-long training camp had been brutal. They had a new coach, transferred over from one of the better teams in the Belgian league, and they had Harry Potter, former star seeker of the Gryffindor team, and former Chosen One.

The first time the Cannons and the Kestrels played each other was at their home stadium, and Harry was out with a neck injury from the previous game against Puddlemere. He sat on the bench for the game, absently pressing his fingers into the massive bruise on the side of his neck, where it spread down onto the top of his shoulders. The bone underneath was knitted back together now, but even the expensive cream from the apothecary near Harry’s rented house couldn’t do anything about the purple-blue swelling.

He watched, blankly, as the Cannons were resoundingly thumped into the ground. He’d only managed to get halfway through a bottle of illicit beer when Malfoy caught the snitch, triumphantly, half an hour into the game. The Kestrels were booed as they left the pitch, but Harry could still see Malfoy grinning across the field, his white hair tousled from the wind.

He went back with the rest of the team to the locker rooms, where they got the shit ripped out of them by the new coach, who got so aggravated at one point that he lapsed into a tirade of french before slumping and telling them all to fuck off. Harry left while everyone else went off to the showers.

Malfoy was waiting for him outside the entrance to the locker rooms, which Harry thought was either pretty brave or pretty stupid. He hadn’t made his mind up yet about which one.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, still grinning. His hair was wet from the shower. The Kestrels obviously hadn’t had the same sort of post-match meeting that the Cannons had just had to sit through.

“What?” Harry asked, looking at the wall behind Malfoy’s left ear. He hadn’t thought it would be like this, the first time they saw each other after the battle. He’d thought it would be on the pitch, where Harry could insult him and maybe rough him up a little and nobody would think twice about it.

“I thought I’d come and see how you’re doing,” Malfoy said gleefully. “Are you alright? That must have been incredibly tough for you.”

“I have to leave now,” Harry told him, his fingers twitching around the strap of his bag. “Because if I don’t then I think I might punch you.”

“Goodness,” Malfoy said, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t look in the shape to be punching anybody, Potter.”

Harry looked at him, right in his eyes. Malfoy looked happy, as anyone would in his situation, and very young. “Are you still trying to bully me?” Harry asked him. “Is that seriously what you’re trying to do right now? Haven’t you got anything better on?”

“Oh I have a myriad of better things to do,” Malfoy said, shrugging one shoulder against the shiny paint behind his back. “I was coming to see if you wanted to do any of them with me. We’re celebrating, you know.”

Harry stared at him. Malfoy stared back, unconcerned. “No,” Harry said.

“Hm,” Malfoy said, “alright then. I suppose you are injured.”

“That’s--” Harry said, almost lost for words. “That’s clearly not the reason why.”

Malfoy pursed his lips. “Ah,” he said.

“Come on,” Harry told him, almost laughing. “You think--”

“I didn’t think anything,” Malfoy snapped, a crease forming in the smooth skin between his eyebrows. “I just thought since we aren’t _children_ anymore--”

“Malfoy just because we aren’t trying to kill each other anymore doesn’t mean I want to suddenly hang out with you,” Harry pointed out. It was a mean thing to say, but he found that he didn’t feel as bad about that as he probably should.

“You were trying to kill me?” Malfoy asked him, frowning more deeply now.

“It’s an expression,” Harry said, taking a step backwards. “I really am leaving now.”

“I wasn't trying to kill _you,_ ” Malfoy muttered.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Malfoy spat. “Ugh,” he said, “just fuck off.”

“I’m trying to,” Harry told him, bewildered, and started to actively back away down the hall.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” Malfoy said suddenly, too loud in the silent hallway. It echoed off the ceiling for a bit. He’d gone quite red. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Harry didn’t know how to answer that. “It’s-- Malfoy that’s--”

“Malfoy that’s _what?”_ Malfoy sneered.

“That’s like a-- do you want me to _thank you_ for not wanting to kill me? That’s like-- normal, people don’t normally want to kill other people. You’re not special for not wanting to kill me.”

Malfoy shook for a second with rage. “I don’t know why I expected you to be any--”

“Yeah,” Harry interrupted, “I don’t know why you did.”

“You’re such a twat,” Malfoy informed him, crossing his arms. He didn’t have any of his kit with him, his laces weren’t even properly tied. He must have been in a rush to get over here.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“Okay fuck off then,” Malfoy said. “Conversation over, get the fuck out of my hallway.”

“Your hallway,” Harry repeated, shocked into laughter.

“I’ll call security,” Malfoy warned.

“To escort me out of my own stadium,” Harry said, as he started to walk away.

“Oh do you _own it?”_ Malfoy called after him. “I don’t think you _own it,_ Potter.”

Harry thought about turning around, getting one last glimpse of Malfoy looking disgruntled in a leather jacket, but didn’t. He flipped Malfoy off, instead, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

3.

“Come out with us tonight,” Malfoy asked, during the first time-out of the match. He was standing up on his broom, showing off. A harsh wind was blowing in from the west, bringing a spit of freezing rain with it, and he was having to shout to be heard. Harry hated away matches in general, unfamiliar pitches and locker rooms and hotel rooms, but this was just taking the piss.

“You’re joking,” Harry replied, shivering. The last time Malfoy had done that Harry hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it for weeks. Malfoy inviting him out with the team, Malfoy pressed against the bright wall of the stadium.

“I’m really not,” Malfoy said, running a hand through his hair. Harry looked away.

They were heading back to the bench from the top of the pitch, the last place they’d seen the snitch before the Kestrels coach had called for a time out. The Cannons were winning, for once, which might have been why he’d done it. They were taking their time, Harry didn’t know why.

“I think you’re in for a pep talk,” Harry said, nodding at the huddle over beside the Kestrels’ bench.

“Ugh,” Malfoy said.

They were silent for a moment, and then Malfoy said, “I wasn’t joking, come out. Wood probably wants to see you.”

Harry swallowed. He could see Oliver down there on the ground, gesticulating wildly. “Looks like you’re missing something,” he said.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, laughing, “I’m not going to beg.”

“Good,” Harry replied, veering off in the direction of his own team, lazily pushing himself into an corkscrew. “Wouldn’t want you to,” he said, but didn’t think Malfoy heard.

The Cannons won, it was their third match in a row, against all fucking odds. Harry watched as the Kestrels traipsed out of their locker room, giving him dirty looks as they passed. Someone from the old Slytherin team nodded as he walked by, face blank and blunt, and Harry nodded back even though he didn’t know the guy. Malfoy was one of the last people out, laughing as he held the door for a tall, dark haired girl.

“I know,” he was saying. “I know, I know.”

“Awful,” she replied, laughing, and smiled at Harry.

Malfoy stopped in his tracks. “Changed your mind?” he asked, still smiling, a little broader now.

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said, “I wanted to tell you I couldn’t.”

“You waited out here to tell me you couldn’t come out,” Malfoy said, huffing a little laugh. “Alright.”

“Good game,” the girl said. Harry couldn’t tell who anyone was without their jersey on.

“You too,” he said.

“Merlin,” Malfoy laughed. “Are you sure you’re not coming, you look a lot like you’re coming.”

He was wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of nice, new-looking jeans. His arms were bare, more muscled than Harry could remember them being. This had probably been a bad idea, he didn’t know why he’d done this.

“No,” Harry said, and gestured towards the exit. “I should--” he cut off, and then walked away.

“We’re going that way too,” Malfoy said after him, drily, but Harry just pretended he couldn’t hear, flushing hot in his cheeks.

It was running away, and he hadn’t done it in a while.

Outside, waiting for a taxi back to the hotel, he thought about what would have happened if he had gone out. Probably nothing. Probably Malfoy would have left him alone with nobody to talk to; he seemed like that type of person, drowning in people who wanted to be near him.

Or maybe they would have got drunk, told each other secrets like people did in the corners of bars. Harry kind of liked the thought of that, in an odd way, Malfoy telling him things nobody else knew.

4.

It became ritual; Malfoy asking, Harry saying no. They didn’t play each other very often, but by the time the new year rolled around Harry had declined four times. It was getting harder.

The first time he said yes was after a loss, a bad one. The game lasted almost six hours, the score getting higher and higher as Harry and Malfoy got more and more frustrated, rushing around the pitch in the light snow. Malfoy didn’t talk to him during, or at any of the breaks. He was serious, determined, and it won them the game when he finally caught the snitch beside the highest goal, almost unseating the Kestrels' keeper when he lunged for it.

Harry spent a long time in the showers, his head bowed under the scalding water. Malfoy was waiting outside the locker room when Harry came out, a lot like the first time except that he wasn’t smiling. He was alone.

“Come on,” he said, and Harry was too tired to do anything but follow.

They drove to Newton Abbot on Harry’s motorcycle, a whole twenty minutes of Malfoy clinging tight to his waist, his thighs hot and close against Harry’s. They untangled from each other outside a small pub on the outskirts of the town, low lights glowing in the windows, a sign swinging in the wind overhead. Malfoy wrinkled his nose.

“Most of the team apparated into London,” he informed Harry, who shrugged and held the door open for him, letting the warmth and the golden smell of beer wash over them.

“I’ll have a pint of Guinness,” Malfoy told the bartender, leaning onto the bar for a moment before taking off his jacket and folding it in his arms. There was a fire going in the grate nearby, with a free table next to it.

“I’ll have the same,” Harry said. Malfoy seemed nervous, like now that Harry had agreed for once he didn’t know what to say. He was drumming his fingers on the leather bar stool next to him in a fast pattern. Harry wondered if Malfoy was angry about being brought to a Muggle pub, but he didn’t seem to be. Malfoy lived among Muggles now, he sort of had to in Kenmare, where there wasn’t a safe little Wizarding community for him to hide in.

“I hated it before,” Malfoy told him, as they waited for their drinks. The Guinness rested as the bartender waited for it to settle. “Or rather, I’d never had it before I moved, and then I hated it, and then it grew on me.”

“You like Ireland?” Harry asked. It was surreal, the way Malfoy turned to him and nodded seriously, the quiet way he said, “yes,” and then paid for both their drinks.

They sat beside the fire. Malfoy flung his coat down onto the seat beside Harry, then rested his feet on the lip of the hearth. He was wearing dragonskin shoes, they must have cost a small fortune. Harry didn’t know what Malfoy’s contract was like, even though they were meant to be publicly available.

“Why did you sign with the Cannons?” Malfoy asked.

“They wanted me,” Harry said. “Not many teams this year needed a seeker. Like, you probably knew, obviously.”

“So why not the Kestrels?” Malfoy asked, worrying at the corner of his coaster. He was right, the Kestrels were a better team by far, they were sure to make the playoffs this year now that Oliver had been made captain. The youngest in their history.

“I just wanted to be in England,” Harry explained. “I guess the Cannons seemed like a good fit.”

Malfoy snorted, at that, and then started to actually laugh. Harry smiled. “Are you insulting my team?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Malfoy replied, still laughing. “Actually I am,” he said after a moment. “You’re shit.”

“I’m shit?” Harry asked.

“You’re--” Malfoy sobered. “You’re not, no, but the team could be better.”

“I’m not going to talk tactics with you,” Harry told him. He took a mouthful of Guinness, knocking it back fast. He’d never really liked it either. He wiped some foam off his lip as Malfoy watched him.

“We’d get kicked off, I suppose,” Malfoy conceded.

Harry bit his lip. “The Keeper should have got out of your way,” he said, “earlier.”

“When I caught the snitch?” Malfoy asked, surprised. Harry nodded. “Emma,” he said. “Yeah she’s-- she’s good though.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Except you did almost knock her off her broom.”

“I can’t talk about this with you,” Malfoy said, annoyed.

“It’s not tactics,” Harry said, “I’m just saying.”

“Well _don’t_ just say,” Malfoy snapped. “It’s none of your business.”

Silence grew between them, until Harry started to regret agreeing to this in the first place. It was stupid, to think they could just-- go out, have a normal conversation, a normal glass of beer. He studied Malfoy’s face as he looked into his beer glass. That, at least, hadn’t changed much since school. Malfoy glanced up, caught Harry looking. He blinked.

“Alright,” he said, sighing. “How good are your privacy charms?”

Something kicked in Harry’s stomach. “Pretty good,” he admitted. “Why?”

Malfoy’s mouth twitched. He drained the rest of his Guinness in one slow motion, then stood up. “Coming?” he asked.

Harry was used to being asked that by now, but not exactly like this. He didn’t ask _where?_ He already knew. “Will our jackets be alright?” he asked, and Malfoy laughed.

“There are four people here,” he said, pointing at them each in turn. Nobody even looked up. “I think your shitty jean jacket will be just fine.”

“It’s not shitty,” Harry said, leading the way into the men’s loos. They were empty. Malfoy clicked the lock shut behind them. “It’s a Levi’s.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Malfoy said, taking his wand out of the waistband of his trousers, Harry’s eyes fixing on the strip of exposed skin. “Take your wand out then,” Malfoy prompted.

“Is this a fight?” Harry asked.

Malfoy tilted his head to the side. He placed his wand on the back of one of the avocado-green sinks. “Of sorts,” he said slowly. Harry cast a _muffliato,_ then put his wand down next to Malfoy’s, where they rattled against each other for a second on the porcelain _._ Malfoy drew a sharp breath inwards as the spell settled over them, warm and a little bit heavy.

“What now?” Harry asked, taking a step towards him. For a moment he considered putting his fingers over Malfoy’s sharp cheekbones, brushing them over his flushed skin, and was just about to reach up when Malfoy caught Harry’s mouth with his own. Harry tilted his head to the side as he opened his mouth, his hands moving with a jolt as he tried to decide where he should put them.

Malfoy broke away, red lipped, then took Harry’s glasses off, tucking them into the pocket of Harry’s shirt. Harry tried very hard not to be charmed by that motion, but didn’t exactly succeed.

“You know I live here,” he said, kissing Malfoy again, letting himself be turned and walked backwards into a sink. The cold edge dug into the small of his back as Malfoy’s hands wandered, onto his hips and onto his stomach, slowly, taking his time.

“You live _here?_ ” Malfoy said, digging his fingertips into Harry’s waist. “It’s a shithole, no offense.”

“I live in the fucking town,” Harry told him, a little breathless. “If you’d wanted to fuck we could have gone back to mine. I own a bed.”

“Do you now,” Malfoy said, smiling. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” He pushed the heel of his hand against the front of Harry’s jeans, circling it against Harry’s hard-on. Harry moaned, just slightly. Malfoy still caught it though.

“Hm,” Malfoy said, all satisfied. “Shall we fuck? I just won a game.” Harry mouthed at his neck while he deliberated, tasting Malfoy’s skin, the slightly fruity scent of the soap in the guest locker rooms. He ran his tongue along Malfoy’s collarbone, sucking hard for a second just to make Malfoy jump.

“No,” Harry said. “Or-- not now, anyway.” Malfoy swallowed, his throat bobbing right underneath Harry’s mouth. He seemed out of ideas now that his last one had been shot down. “Do you want a blowjob?” Harry asked. He’d never given anyone a blowjob before. Malfoy was probably going to be a terrible place to start.

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, nodding, his mouth clicking as he licked his lips. “Let me just--”

Harry stepped out from where he was being held, spun them around so their places were reversed. Malfoy didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. Harry kissed him again, and thought maybe he would be fine if he could just keep kissing Malfoy for ages, for hours. His mouth was warm, and soft, and he didn’t taste like much except maybe the beer he’d just drunk. Harry could probably get off like this, Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth, his dick hitching against Malfoy’s inner thigh. It would be slow, it would take him forever.

Malfoy didn’t seem to mind Harry taking charge, he just stood there for a bit while Harry moaned into his mouth, and stroked his fingertips against the waistband of Harry’s trousers. If Harry hadn’t been hard before, that would have done it.

“Okay,” Harry said, his mouth fuzzy.

“Yeah?” Malfoy said against his lips. It seemed to Harry that he didn’t have any idea what he was doing here either. Harry went down to his knees, making Malfoy breathe in sharply. He pressed his face against the outside of Malfoy’s trousers, rubbing his nose along the hot length of Malfoy’s erection. It felt so weird to have Malfoy here like this, waiting for Harry to suck him off. Harry didn’t even like him very much. He wasn’t even sure that Malfoy _deserved_ a blowjob, for being such a shit, but Harry wanted to give him one anyway.

He undid the top button of Malfoy’s trousers, bunching them down around Malfoy’s thighs. Malfoy groaned, when Harry eased his dick over the band of his boxers; he was already leaking at the tip, a dark stain spread across the navy fabric. Harry held onto him for a second, squeezing down hard as he ran his thumb over Malfoy’s slit. It was kind of impossible not to compare it to his own, as much as he tried not to. Malfoy was paler, obviously, even though he’d gone dark pink at the head, and he was thick too, Harry’s fingers only just meeting as they circled his length. Malfoy groaned again, deeper, and tipped his head back towards the ceiling.

Harry knew he liked this part, because he’d done it before with Seamus once in their dorm when everyone else was at dinner. He liked the weight of Malfoy in his hand, the velvety soft skin against his palm. He moved his hand up and down a few times, spreading wetness over Malfoy’s shaft with a slick noise. Harry held the base of Malfoy’s dick and pressed a kiss against the tip, his mouth open, keeping his lips soft.

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, and rested one hand in Harry’s hair, digging his fingers deep. It didn’t hurt, and Harry leaned into it. “That’s--” Malfoy said, but cut off when Harry sucked him in, scratching his fingers gently through Malfoy’s pubic hair.

Harry wanted to hear what Malfoy thought, what Malfoy was feeling, but he didn’t want to break off to say _is this good?_ or _can you talk to me?_ He sucked again, hard, moving his tongue against Malfoy’s foreskin. Malfoy’s dick jumped, and Harry’s mouth was flooded with the taste of come. “Merlin,” Malfoy said, but he hadn’t actually finished.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, pulling off. He looked up at Malfoy, who blinked stupidly for a moment.

“Um,” Malfoy said, “wet. Get it wetter.”

Harry worked up some spit in his mouth, let Malfoy’s dick sit for a second on the flat part of his tongue. Malfoy closed his eyes again, hanging his head down. His fingers moved in Harry’s hair.

Harry took one hand away for a second to open his own trousers, getting his fist around his dick and wanking himself slowly. “Hey, no,” Malfoy said, strained, “don’t. I want to do that.”

Harry grunted, but took his hand away. It was wet with precome. “Suck on the tip,” Malfoy said. “Like, get it into your mouth, and then use your hand for the rest. You don’t have to go deep or anything.”

Harry clenched his hand around Malfoy’s hip, rubbing his thumb against Malfoy’s hipbone, as he did what Malfoy had told him to do. After a while his jaw started to hurt, but Malfoy was making these wounded noises above him that Harry would probably do anything to keep hearing. Malfoy was leaking more, but most of the bitter taste was disappearing as Harry worked up more spit, smearing it onto his cheek mostly by accident. He felt messy, loose, the weight of Malfoy heavy in his mouth.

“That’s it,” Malfoy said, a couple of times. Harry started wanking him harder, building into a proper rhythm, closing his eyes as Malfoy tried to push his face away. Harry pulled off but kept his hand moving, getting tighter as he moved up towards the head, reddened and slick. Malfoy reached down to cup his hand over the tip, and then shuddered through an orgasm, a little bit of come leaking through his fingers. He caught his breath for a second, looking down at Harry.

“Fuck,” Malfoy said, and laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Harry grinned up at him, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Jesus,” he agreed, his legs creaking a little as he stood up. His dick was still out, and hard, and Harry resisted the urge to cover it as Malfoy turned to the sink to wash his hands.

Malfoy caught his eye in the small mirror, his gaze soft around the edges. Harry never imagined seeing him like that, even when he’d thought about angry-fucking Malfoy into a wall sometimes when they’d been younger. Harry crowded against him, pulling his t-shirt to the side and kissing the back of his neck.

“Alright,” Malfoy said, getting his hand around Harry’s dick, wanking him slowly with an odd grip. Harry pulled his mouth off Malfoy’s neck and replaced it with his forehead, nosing against Malfoy’s skin, breathing him in. Malfoy looked at him in the mirror. “Do you want me to suck you off?” he asked.

Harry shook his head, and put his face back down. “This is good,” he said, fucking into Malfoy’s fist, his hips jerking. Malfoy squeezed at the tip for a moment, making Harry gasp, and put his fingertips on Harry’s foreskin, moving it gently over the head of Harry’s dick.

“Fuck,” Harry said, unable to keep still. Malfoy was going so slow, moving his hand delicately, nothing like the rough grip Harry wanted. “Harder,” he said, “and like-- faster.”

Malfoy obliged, his arm working against Harry’s stomach as he changed his pace. “Please,” Harry said belatedly, and Malfoy hummed.

“You can tell me,” Malfoy said, pulling his hand away to spit into his palm. It was cold when he put it back.

“I--” Harry tried, lost for words. His legs felt weak, and he leaned more of his weight against Malfoy’s body, his hand on Malfoy’s waist as he shuddered. “It’s so good,” he managed, after a second. He breathed out against Malfoy’s skin, hot and wet and breathless.

“Come on,” Malfoy said, low in the back of his throat. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

“I’m--” Harry said, and then cut off again, panting. He jerked forwards a few more times, his dick sliding noisy and wet into Malfoy’s hand, and then came, splashing on the underside of the sink as Malfoy worked him through it.

Malfoy held onto him for a while as he went soft. “Okay,” he said eventually, patting Harry’s head with his dry hand, and let go. Harry wobbled for a second, steadying himself on the side of the sink. He breathed hard as Malfoy washed his hands for the second time.

“God,” Harry said, and kissed him once he was done, hard on Malfoy’s parted lips. They made out for a while, frantic, with both their trousers still open at the front. Harry could feel Malfoy’s dick against his, soft and warm. He must have spelled himself clean.

“Okay,” Malfoy said again, pulling back. He turned to survey the underneath of the sink, and cast a wordless cleaning charm on it as he straightened. Harry put his glasses back on.

Someone knocked at the door, and Harry grimaced. “We should have gone to mine,” he said.

“Oh come on,” Malfoy said, smiling. “This is the perfect venue in which to have sex with your arch rival.”

“Okay first of all you’re not my arch rival,” Harry told him, raising his eyebrows. “And second of all I could think of a thousand better places.”

“Mm,” Malfoy said absently, doing up his trousers. “Like where?”

“Like-- I don’t know, a dungeon or something.”

Malfoy looked up incredulously. “A _dungeon?”_ he repeated. “Potter what the _fuck.”_

“It seems like-- I don’t know,” Harry said defensively. “You said arch enemies.” He chucked Malfoy his wand, and pocketed his own.

“In a fucking potions classroom,” Malfoy laughed. “Brilliant. We’ll save that for next time.”

Harry blinked. “Next time we-- play each other,” he checked.

Malfoy sighed, making for the door. “Have you got everything?” he asked. Harry nodded, and he unlocked it, slipping out. Harry followed. “Our coats are still intact,” Malfoy said, when they got back to the table, shaking his own out and handing Harry his jacket.

“Thanks,” Harry said reflexively.

“So-- yes,” Malfoy said, after a beat. “Next time you’re in Kenmare, or I’m here.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“No pressure or anything,” Malfoy told him, eyes on the dying fire beside them. “You know, just-- if we feel like it.”

“Right,” Harry said.

Malfoy pursed his lips, seemed to come to some decision, because he leant in to kiss Harry again, sweeter than all the times before. “I’ve got a portkey,” he said. “But you can walk me out.”

5.

They weren’t even playing each other, they just happened to be in London at the same time.

“Easy,” Malfoy said, as though gentling a horse, and slid a little bit deeper.

Harry gasped, but quietly, and clutched at the old wooden headboard. Malfoy had been incredibly impressed when he’d stepped inside Grimmauld Place, cooing over the paintings and the curtains and the big red rug in the downstairs parlour. He’d called it a parlour, Harry hadn’t, Harry had called it a sitting room like a normal person.

“Oh fuck you,” Harry said, and then realised his mistake when Malfoy laughed.

“Later maybe,” he said, and patted the small of Harry’s back where sweat had started to bead. Harry tried determinedly to relax around the sting of Malfoy’s dick, the size of him.

“I’m holding you to--” Harry said, cutting off when Malfoy reached around to pet his stomach, smoothing over his coarse hair.

“Of course,” Malfoy said, pushing in slowly, not even stopping when Harry moaned. “It’s good?” he asked, and then said, in a rush, “no, no, don’t answer that, I can tell it’s good.”

Harry shivered, and then came hard against the bedspread in retaliation. “Okay thanks, get out,” he said, as soon as he could manage, and Malfoy laughed.

6.

“It might be nice to play on the same team,” Harry said nervously, a long while later. They were at Harry’s rented house near the stadium, on the shitty mattress they’d just had to strip bare.

Malfoy sighed, the way he sometimes did when something upset him, and then said, “we play in the same fucking position.”

“Shit,” Harry said, “I’m an idiot.”

Malfoy stroked over the bruise on Harry’s shin, it was still tender. “No,” he replied.

Harry didn’t say anything else for a while. “How would you feel about playing reserve?” he asked, and wriggled away laughing when Malfoy tried to tackle him.

7.

“So,” Ginny said, kicking his shoulder gently, and then didn’t say anything else.

“So-- so what?” Harry asked her, yawning.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she warned, kicking him again. He sat up minutely, blinking his eyes open.

“I’m not, I’m not.”

They were crammed into the hammock between the oak trees at the bottom of the garden, the chimney of the Burrow smoking merrily away behind them as Arthur cooked breakfast. Ginny was back from Hogwarts for summer, which had coincided nicely with the weekend Harry had got off training. Ron and Hermione were around somewhere, or maybe still asleep in Ron’s bedroom.

“How is it,” Ginny said, a touch wistfully. She was too good for the Gryffindor team, it had been painfully obvious when Harry had last gone up there to catch a game. “Is it good?”

“I mean, we’re losing,” Harry pointed out. “Pretty much permanently.”

“Even so,” she replied quietly.

Harry thought about it, about the waking up early, the running in the rain, the practise in the rain. He thought about the team, about how hard they were working and how little they won. He had muscles now where he hadn’t before, his skin gone even darker from being outside all the time, his hair always tangled from the wind.  He thought about Malfoy the last time they’d played each other, staying over at Malfoy’s apartment even though he hadn’t meant to, Malfoy naked, his head pillowed on Harry’s thigh as they watched morning TV and ate cereal. He felt opened up by it, by his life now, like a cool breeze was blowing right through him.

“You’ll love it,” he told her, staring up through the trees at the bright blue sky. She smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! did u like how I'm now back on the happy endings?? here's my [tumblr](http://seefin.tumblr.com/) where u can talk to me and send me things if you so choose xxx
> 
> ps. I know nothing about Quidditch!!!!! sorry if this is incredibly obvious but tbh I just made loads of shit up!!! ly


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